


Confession

by second_hand_heaven



Category: DCU
Genre: Angst, Bedside Hand-Holding, Bedside Vigils, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Love Confessions, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: Diana might not have her own Kryptonite, but she’s not invincible. When a battle makes his worst fears a reality, Bruce sits by Diana's bedside and the words tumble out.





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt 'I can't breathe' for a lovely anon.

 

The steady beep of the Watchtower’s medical wing grates on Bruce’s nerves. He hates it, hates the smell, the silence, the lingering air of grief that can't be scrubbed from the walls. White on white on white. Not even a window to look out at the never-ending blackness of space  that Bruce  _ knows  _ has an end, in theory, but looks like it could stretch on forever. 

His cowl is shoved back, but other than that he's still in full gear, sweating in the incessant heat of the room. He could change, Barry brought him a fresh set of clothes this morning, but Bruce hasn't been willing to leave her side. 

Diana is laid out in the bed, her hair spilling limply across the starched pillows. Tubes and wires twist from her frame. The one down her throat is the most daunting, but it's the one that's keeping her alive. They’re monitoring her for now, hoping that something will work, that something might be able to heal Diana. Bruce doesn't know what else to do but wait. 

Yesterday's battle had been brutal. Bruce came out of it pretty well, though his should still twinges from being dislocated. But Diana… 

They need to invest in more comfortable chairs in Medical, Bruce decides. The seat is cramped, the plastic unforgiving, and maybe it’s how it should be. Although fatigue claws at the back of his eyes, sleep is the last thing he wants right now, not while Diana’s laid out on the cot before him, unresponsive and breathing through a tube. It's a new image to add to the lineup of his nightmares. 

He can’t remember the last time he stayed in here this long as a visitor and not as a patient. Usually Bruce prefers to recuperate at the Cave, but there have been times where he's been in too  _ delicate _ a state to be moved. Each time he’s woken up in the medical ward, there's been an ethereal woman watching over him like an angel, gentle smile softening her dazzling blue eyes.  Too many times he's woken up to that beautiful, soulful smile, gasping in agony. What he would give, what he would sacrifice, to be able to wake up beside her and see that beautiful smile. But now, as she's lying in front of him so very still, he'd damn his sight just so Diana would wake again. 

“Diana.” He takes her hand in his. “I’m sorry.” He should have known about the attack, should have known about their weapons. It’s his fault, he should have know. He should have protected her. Not that Diana has ever been the type to need protecting, not by Bruce, certainly. But today, she did, and he failed her. 

He's failed a lot of people, and this time it still stings. They’re teammates, professionals, and somewhere along the way, somewhere deep within Bruce, there was hope for more, another facet to their relationship. Something warm, something golden, something he always thought was unattainable. 

“ _ Love _ ”, Alfred would call it, with a knowing smirk,   _ “hopelessly so”.  _ Hopeless because of the lives they lead. Hopeless because of the walls Bruce has built, layers and layers of concrete and callousness. Hopeless because Bruce has never learnt to say how he feels. Hopeless because Diana's slowly dying in this hospital bed and there's nothing he can do about it. 

“Diana, you…” Bruce chuckles softly. “You know how good I am with words.”

No one is listening, no one can hear his confession at this bedside vigil. She can't hear him, he's pretty certain of that, and if she can, it's unlikely she'll remember if she wakes.  _ When _ she wakes. Because she will. She has to. 

“I think of you, and I want to be better.  _ You _ make me better. You make me stronger. And then some days, you make me impossibly weak. When I’m near you,” he says, tears falling from his lashes, “I can’t breathe. It terrifies me.” And right now, looking down at her still body against the starched-white sheets, he's so afraid. His throat tightens, but the floodgates have been opened and the words just keep flowing like a river, unrestrained. “And when I look across at you, when I see you by my side, I know that's where I want to be. I want to be by your side, in any way you'll have me. Teammate. Friend.” He swallowed thickly. “Lover. I'm on your side, Diana. Always.”

Bruce scrubs the back of his free hand across his eyes, unsurprised when it comes away wet. Diana always managed to break down his walls, orchestrating a jailbreak for his deepest thoughts and feelings. 

“So I need you to wake up, Diana.” He bows his head, bringing Diana’s cool and limp hand to his lips. “I need you.” The words brush against her knuckles like a kiss, a confession. 

_ I love you.  _

The words stick in his throat, their tiny barbs piercing through his flesh, keeping those three little words lodged in his trachea until he chokes on them. 

“Bruce.” There’s a hand at his shoulder, warm and grounding. Clark. Of course he would come. Of course he would come at this exact moment. Of course he would have heard every single word. Bruce grits his teeth but stays silent, the whirl of machines and a persistent heartbeat the only sounds in the room. 

“It’s not your fault,” Clark says, finally breaking the silence. 

Clark loved her too, a long time ago. Maybe he still does. But that doesn’t matter, not now. This isn’t a contest, and it isn’t the place for jealousy or for blame. Grief coils around them, uniting them as they watch the steady rise and fall of Diana's chest. Clark offers comfort with his words, with his touch, and Bruce tries to return it. “It’s not yours either,” he says, and the hand at his shoulder tightens a fraction, only for a moment. He hears Clark’s sigh, a sound of disbelief, and yeah, Bruce feels it too. He’ll take the blame, the guilt, as will Clark. It’s just how they are. But blame won't heal Diana, it won't fill the hollow cavity of Bruce's chest. 

Clark’s thumb strokes calming circles against Bruce’s shoulder. “She’s going to be okay, B,” he smiles softly. “So you’ll be able to tell her when she wakes up.”

 

_ FIN _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and Kudos are always welcome.
> 
> Feel free to come chat with me on my [tumblr](http://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/)
> 
> -Nova xx


End file.
